#i should dedicate an entire page in my sketchbook to trying to find an easy way to draw his crown. it's always the hardest thing to get-

[baking-bugs]

a mediocre doodle for both testing out brushes i should mainly use for lineart & sorta relearning how to draw dedede as i suffer from the "forget how to draw a character after not doing so for a week or longer" curse

[peachywrite]

Unpleasant Pleasantries

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader

Trigger Warning: inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Rohan thought this to be the perfect opportunity to get back at that imbecile with the hair of a 60’s delinquent, but instead found something more fulfilling than revenge.

It was your first time meeting the famous mangaka, but Koichi insisted that you introduce yourself to the newly found stand user as a formality.

~

“It’s better to make friends than enemies, y/n! So please do this for me.” He begged, clasping his hands tightly together as he bowed.

“Koichi-chan, he ripped out pages from your face and tried to do the same to Okuyasu and Josuke. I don’t know if I trust this guy.” You sighed, nervous and even a little scared.

“It’ll be fine, when you tell him you’re related to Josuke, he won’t even think about trying anything!” Koichi’s eyes glistened, still silently begging you to go.

“Fine, but if I don’t show up back home in an hour, call Josuke please.” Koichi nodded enthusiastically, shouting thank yous while he ran off to find your brother.

~

Thanks to the written address Koichi had given you, it was easy to find the large Victorian mansion that belonged to the isolated artist.

“Come on, y/n. You can do this. Just a quick hello and you’re done.” You tried to psych yourself up, taking one last deep breath before approaching the walkway that led up to the door.

Knock Knock

You waited, your heart rate a bit too quick for your liking.

You could hear the steps on the other side slowly approaching and suddenly stopping, only to find the door creak by.

“Now who would be disrupting the Great Rohan Kishibe?” The man spoke in a sinister tone, swinging the door open.

Rohan Kishibe looked nothing like how you expected him to. He was built slim but still toned, his green hair neatly styled and face slim and sharp with a cute dolphin bandage placed on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes stared at you intently, as if he was trying to analyze your face as well.

“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. My friend Koichi wanted me to introduce myself. I’m Y/N Higashikata. I’m a stand user and I go to school with the rest of the boys.” You stammer out, guilt hitting you for interrupting the presumably busy manga artist.

The man eyed you with a devilish smirk, clapping his hands together like he had discovered something amusing.

“You’re Josuke’s little sister! Oh how fun! You know, you’re too cute to be related to that boy. Now please come in, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk.”

“I’m actually the same age as him, and I’d love to join you but I got... study plans with K-Koichi!” You tried to avoid his stare but as he made eye contact, you knew you had lost.

“Nonsense! I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ll be studying with me, now please come in already.” His smile grew while he pulled you into his abode by your wrists.

The house was lightly decorated with manga related memorabilia on the wood carved shelves and many original panels from famous mangas hung framed on the soft toned walls, but the home still held a grand Victorian feeling to it.

Your original unease disappeared as you took in the grandeur of the mansion and the interesting items that adorned it so carefully. Rohan smirked at the curiosity in your eyes and the quick movements they made while you focused on specific areas of his home.

“Would you like a personal tour of the property before we study? I will warn you though, not all the rooms have been styled by yours truly yet. It’s a work in progress at the moment.” The smile he bared had you suspicious again, but you didn’t want to be rude to the owner of such a magnificent estate.

“As much as I would love to, your home is absolutely stunning, I sadly only have an hour to study. My mom would kill me if I got home late again.” A hefty sigh escaped your lips and you gave him your best upset expression you could muster.

You hoped he wouldn’t key in on your lying, remembering the warning Koichi had given you about his ability to discern genuine emotions from fake ones.

The mangaka squinted his eyes for a moment, causing your heartbeat to speed up substantially, but his face returned to its usual smile that you swore held a bit of deviousness underneath.

“Oh! it’s alright, dear. I understand. I’ll save it for your next visit. Let’s get to your work now, follow me to the kitchen. I’ll prepare us something and you can take a seat by the window.” He gently took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen and carefully pulling out a seat for you at his dining room table.

A beautiful bouquet set in a hand sculpted vase caught your interest on the table as Rohan busied himself with brewing a fresh pot of tea. The flowers were bright in color compared to the muted ones of the vase, but the contrast made both appear unique and appealing to the eye.

“I see you even appreciate the smaller details of a home. Though I am a mangaka, I do dabble in other forms of artistic expression. Take pottery for example, I glazed this vase in a muted color pallet so it could stand out on its own when beautifully bright flowers were placed in it. The two compliment each other nicely, don’t they?” He set down two tea cups and began to pour.

“Yes! And I especially love the bright purples in the lillies you picked here.” You gently touched a petal, Rohan now lightly tapping his cheek, pulling out a chair for himself to sit right beside you.

His closeness and unwavering gaze brought a heaviness to your chest, making you stumble over your words.

“Um-m thank you for treating me so well and letting me study in your home, Rohan-sensei.” You began to unpack your notes and textbook, Rohan scooting closer to analyze what you had written.

“No need to thank me, my dear. Now let’s get to your studies. What is it you need to work on today?” The smile he shares with you is comforting, but you can’t help but feel like he was plotting something.

You set your pencil bag down and prepare your notebook, trying to make yourself busy by setting up.

“Biology. I’ve only just recently started going to school in person, but I tested well enough to be placed in the highest class. Today we’re supposed to label all the organs in this frog drawing.” Your tone comes off as annoyed and Rohan picks up on it, tilting his head to the side while he reads your frog diagram.

“You aren’t a fan of biology? I’ve got a few anatomy sketches of animals you could use instead of this photocopied worksheet. Maybe that will help peak your interest?” He stands and saunters out to find his sketches, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

When Rohan returns, the two of you work on your Biology homework for about an hour, finishing the entire pot of tea in the process. You found out that Rohan was quite skilled at anatomy, having an entire sketchbook dedicated to the anatomy of many living things, including the likes of frogs and flowers. He was extremely helpful and fun to talk with.

As you packed up your bag, Rohan remained seated in his chair, playing with one of the lilies from the bouquet. You weren’t sure if you should head towards the door and leave Rohan or wait for him to stand and lead you out. You were about to speak when the mangaka interrupted with a swish of his pen in your direction.

“Heaven’s Door.”

You felt a sharp shove of air to your midsection, sending you onto the floor. Every movement you attempted was futile as the grinning artist looked down at you. A deep chuckle haunted you while he leaned in closer to your face. His hands gently caressed your cheek, opening it up like a book.

“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re interesting and I’d love to learn more about you, but I’m impatient. It’ll be far easier for me to just read you. Don’t fret, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t remember this.” He flipped through your pages, ignoring the tears that ran down onto the very paper he was trying to read.

“Now let’s just read the juicy bits today. You were hospitalized along with your brother when you were only four, a strange parasite made up of Dio’s cells attacked your immune system at age twelve and had you bedridden until fairly recently.” The curiosity he held for your story excited him, the pen he held in one hand quickly wrote onto the notepad he placed on the floor beside your head.

You felt like sinking into yourself, ignoring his quips and teases as the embarrassment of the mangaka reading your thoughts and feelings enveloped you. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be this way? He was so kind before and just like a flick of a switch, he changed.

“Oh, now how did you escape that? Here we are, thanks to Mr.Joestar’s Hamon lessons, you not only came back from your illness, but gained a proper stand and the ability to wield Hamon just like your father and great grandfather! Wait, what’s this new paragraph about?” He squinted closely, reading your page out loud again.

“I have to visit Rohan Kishibe today because Koichi told me to. He practically begged. Even though I’m scared, Koichi gave me his word that nothing bad would happen. Rohan Kishibe looks very different from what I imagined a mangaka to look. Well, what did you expect me to look like?” His smirk grows as he continues on.

“Ah, another new bit is here! Rohan Kishibe is very good at anatomy, he’s been kind and helpful, I’d like to get to know him better. I think Josuke was just overreacting when he called Rohan Kishibe pure evil. I could see us being friends.”

His smile disappears skimming the next sentence, his usual tone of voice changed as he starts to read. He sounded upset, hurt even.

You were the one being wronged here! Why would he get upset? He doesn’t have the right.

“Josuke was right. Rohan Kishibe is not nice, he is terribly mean. He’s using me for his entertainment. He doesn’t care. Rohan Kishibe is not kind, he is not helpful, he is cruel, I don’t want to get to know him. I want to forget him.”

“I hate Rohan Kishibe. I hope to never see him again.”

Rohan paused, looking away from your pages, trying to focus on anything else for the moment.

“W-well, I’ll just fix this last paragraph and erase it from your mind. You’re being dramatic, I’m not as terrible as you describe me.” Chuckling to himself, he tries to laugh off his obvious pain and attempts to regain his composure.

“No! I won’t let you erase my emotions!” You shouted, a wave of Hamon spreading through his arm as his pen touched your page, his attempt to rewrite your memory foiled.

The mangaka was sent flying back, his right arm dropping the pen and your face finally shutting closed, returning your ability to move. Although you were upset at the betrayal of trust you gave the man, you felt a twinge of guilt in your heart when you spotted his still form draped across the wood floor, cradling the arm you had burned with your Hamon.

Running to his side, all thoughts of malice left your body while you attempted to get a better look at his injury. His arm was still intact thankfully, but it was badly burned and needed to be set correctly and quickly if he ever wanted it to heal properly. You took a deep breath and turned Rohan over to see if he was still conscious.

“Oh god, Rohan I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your eyes fill with tears again as you see the artist weakly rest himself against the wall, still holding his arm close to his chest.

“No, no it’s alright. I brought this on myself. I accept that.” He grimaced, trying to take a peek at his injuries but too frightened to actually check.

“You read my thoughts and history, it wasn’t right but you didn’t physically hurt me. I don’t know how that happened, but I promise you I’ll fix it.” You swore to the manga writer, now searching through your backpack.

When you found your pair of scissors, you went into full first aid mode, removing the sleeve from his right arm by carefully cutting the loose cloth off. After tossing the short sleeve to the side, you cut the bottom of the skirt you were wearing off into a long bandage-like shape of clothing and ran it under the cold tap water from the kitchen sink, returning to the injured Rohan.

“I’m going to wrap your arm with this, it won’t be painful if you let me use my stand, but I’m going to ask you first before I use her on you.” The man nodded, accepting your offer to erase the pain.

“Under Pressure. She’s a stand that has the ability to manipulate emotions. She can change them within a radius or focus on only one individual. When she focuses on a single person, she is only able to change their emotion to the opposite of what is being felt.” You began to wrap his arm, nervous about what he might feel when you placed the wet fabric loosely around it.

All Rohan could do was bite back his lip to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. Instead of the immeasurable pain he imagined to come with dressing a freshly burned wound, he felt a wave of euphoria. He now understood what you meant by the “opposite” emotion would be felt.

The artist never knew wrapping his burned arm would feel so good, every touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to water. It confused him, even though he understood that the opposite of pain was pleasure, it still startled him every time you did one more pass of the homemade bandage.

He tried his hardest not to be flustered, but when you finished off his arm by tieing the last bit with a knot, he let a small whimper escape his lips. His hand shot up to cover his face, it’s hue now a bright crimson.

Your cheeks turned bright pink as well. You turned away swiftly, to avoid eye contact.

“U-Um just stay put. I’m gonna borrow your phone for a second and let you catch your breath.” Scratching the side of your cheek, you stand up and make a b-line for the phone, dialing your home and hoping that Josuke would pick up. You glanced at the clock set on the wall, it read 8:15.

I’m late.

As soon as the phone line rang once, you spotted the front door to Rohan’s manor fly across the main hall. Peeking your head out from the kitchen, you see a furious Josuke with Koichi in pursuit.

“ROHAN-SENSEI! WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME 15 MINUTES AGO!” He yells out, his voice echoing throughout the home.

“Josuke! I’m here! I was just about to call you. Listen, I messed up bad and hurt Rohan. He’s in the kitchen bandaged up but I need you to heal him all the way.” You run to Josuke, giving him a tight hug while trying not to cry from the stress of the situation.

Josuke squeezes you once and let’s you go, looking you over from head to toe so he could make sure you weren’t injured as well. When he spots your torn skirt, his aura radiates a dark malice you’d never seen him show before.

“Wait Josuke! I did this to myself, we didn’t have bandages so I cut some cloth.”

He looks you over again and sighs heavily, the purple hue that was full of rage, leaving him.

“Ok, fine. Where’s that jerk? I’ll fix him up real quick so we can go home.” He grumbled, following you into the kitchen.

Even though Rohan wanted to refuse any treatment from Josuke, he finally accepted the help when you threatened to cry on the spot. His arm had returned to its previous state, unburned and fully functional, thanks to Josuke and Shining Diamond.

Josuke picked up your backpack and held the now fixed front door open for you, while Rohan stood and waved goodbye. You awkwardly returned the wave and made your way back home, your thoughts chaotic and confused.

On the one hand you felt guilty for putting Rohan through such an immense amount of pain, but you were also upset at the humiliation he put you through by reading your life with Heaven’s Door. These thoughts plagued your mind as you laid your head to rest for the night.

~

It was roughly two in the afternoon when Rohan Kishibe knocked on your front door. A short but older woman answered, complaining about the loudness of the knocks when she looked over the artist.

“Oh, my apologies. You’re that Rohan Kishibe my kids talk about. How may I help you, Mr. Kishibe?” She asked with a warm tone to her voice, leaning against her door frame and smiling up at him.

“Is y/n in? I’d like to deliver this to her personally.” He spoke softly, shaking the box he held in his hands.

Your mother couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable, most likely it was his first time gifting something like this.

“She’s not home yet, but give her five minutes. Why don’t you come in? You can wait for her up in her room, just don’t go raiding her drawers or anything.” She joked, Rohan’s cheeks turning vivid scarlet.

“I’m only pulling your leg, sweety. I know you’re better than that. Now come on! Have a seat at her desk and I’ll bring you up some lemonade.” Rohan followed her inside.

When they reached your room, Mrs.Higashikata opened the door and waved her hand to your desk seat.

“Pull up that chair there and I’ll be back with some refreshments.” Her smile gleamed at him. She walked off to the kitchen, leaving the artist alone in your room.

Rohan browsed around your room, taking in the personality that was apparent by the many bits of decor that gave your little private space a peculiar style. Your walls held photos printed on Polaroid film, sketches presumably drawn by you, and posters of your favorite video games and shows.

When he glanced around your room, he was immediately caught off guard when he spotted two volumes of his very own manga, propped up and on display in your bookcase. To say he was flattered was an understatement, he was completely floored. You were a fan of his?

His heart was heavy all of a sudden, he felt a dreadful pain in his chest while he held the book in his hands. He turned his head toward the doorway when he heard your voice greet your mother. To regain himself, he quickly skimmed through the pages of the manga he was holding, hearing your distant conversation come to an end.

You entered the room. Dropping your bag at the corner of the closet, your eyes never leaving Rohan while you take a seat on your bed. The mangaka gently placed your copy of Pink Dark Boy back in its original position, turning around now to face you.

“I’d like to humbly apologize for my abhorrent behavior and actions yesterday. I was terrible. I know it might be asking too much of you, but I brought you this as a peace offering. I want us to start over. I’d like to get to know you the right way.” He passes you the box he was carrying with him, nudging you to open it.

Casually unknotting the bow and removing the lid from the bottom, you slowly lift what appears to be a white sundress out of the box. It was beautifully made and looked to be just your size.

“I know it’s not the skirt you tore, but I felt like you deserved something a little more unique.” He averts your gaze quickly when you attempt to gauge his reaction.

The mangaka appears to be flustered, apparently not very used to apologizing. His eyes held a fear of rejection but also a glimmer of hope. A breath you never knew you were holding was released with a quiet hum.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, but do know that buying me things isn’t going to repair my trust in you. We can at the very least start over though.”

Rohan smiled to himself, thankful for your empathetic nature, and nodded a quick yes.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how about we take that dress and enjoy some tea at the cafe? My treat.”

[remsmoonlight]

— title : west side polaroids

— word count : 2.4k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : the first day unbound by the table is marked by you both.

— warnings : none except minimal mentions of death and descriptions of blood

note: please please please go easy on me i have not written any john content in months but omg i adore the song west side by ariana .. issa dreamy vibe , but yeah i couldn’t decide the title so i merged them ..... anyways :)

                     ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open !   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Life that does not revolve around the endless cycle of death and immorality is still new to John, the colour of crimson may have well been his favourite colour with how much he’d found it coating nearly every inch of his skin on a frequent basis. Some nights he’d awake and was sure he could see the stains of blood dried into his nails, though the flood of a bedside lamp would soon flush that worry away. Never had he been the one to imagine a life outside of what he knows, though as he stares at his image in the lengthy mirror before him, that’s what he observes in this moment. A free man.

A whole thirty days had passed since that fateful night when he secured his freedom from his .. job, wanting to allow a sufficient recovery time. Any longer and he knew you well enough to know you’d be breaking his front door down. Luckily, many of the cuts and furious bruises had almost completely healed, while some more stubborn than others were covered with a little more difficulty than he’d prefer. Still, he hopes that your reaction isn’t too explosive. With great reluctance he’d shared enough details with you to understand him and why he is the way he is, and should he not make it back you wouldn’t be left in limbo waiting for him to return. Knowing how often you found yourself worrying over him. Since when did I deserve something so good? he asks himself now and every day that greets him.

He never wants you to be left with a ghost. Especially when you had dug so deeply to prevent him from being consumed by the repetition to death and destruction by his ability to maximise results from his body when required.

Contact had been scarce between you both, and you accepted it. Knowing just what was transpiring as you went through your daily activities, wondering what John could be up to. Staying honest to yourself, your mind had conjured up the most ghastly images, a mental sketchbook where the next page would only be worse than the previous. Though, the moment you heard his voice through your mobile, you felt all the tight tension that wracked your limbs alleviate to nothing more than a dull ache that you have since forgotten.

John is a good liar however when he shared the intricate details of the life he had led, his eyes shone a truth and a pain of growing tired of all the slaughter he’d had a hand dipped into many a time. You believed him and you still do. In spite of this it’s still a difficult task for your mind to wrap itself around but for John? You would.

“ there you are, stranger! “ you greet warmly as you open your arms to finally embrace him after so long.

Your eyes shut while you relish the physical contact that you have sorely missed, you release a heavy breath of air as the moment you have been counting down to is here and you can grasp it with your fingertips. Sensations unreliant on your eyes hone in on the comfort you now feel, the smooth material you can feel to the smell of the cologne worn by John ⏤ a gentle smile drifts softly onto your features in response to the warm shield of solace envelopes you whole.

“ it took longer than I thought. “ he says as he shakes his head, you feel the action from your position

“ I'd say.. I thought I’d never see you again. “

“ I wouldn’t let that happen. “ a low whisper travels from his lips, you can feel his warm breath on you as he leans down, the action causing you to shiver at the faintly sinister tone that had been so close to overwhelming them.

In your heart you feel the strength in his words, it’s not a statement but a promise with all the faith and trust poured into them. Never had you met someone as dedicated and resolute as the man, you’d have called him a psychic because whenever he says something it often comes true, born into existence from his drive.

“ that is something I believe. “ you reply, your voice dulling ever so slightly in octaves.

A mighty stone wall had once been John, any attempt to get to know him proved a punishing task. Though, when a crack had become apparent it became obvious that a gentle touch had been a foreign concept for him but when he’d accepted it as real? The taste of what life could transform into made him want more, to open the door he’d never once entertained of unlocking. John is incredibly grateful you’d never become frustrated and left as soon as you’d arrived in his life, refusing to want another life without your touch.

“ so, are we going to stand here all day or are we going to get in that car you adore so, so much? “

With the barest of groans escaping his throat, he reluctantly disentangles himself from your form, already missing the contact with you. Turning, you move with an energetic vigour buzzing in your toes ⏤ from your position you fail to realise John has himself glued to your form with an affectionate warmth pooling in his eyes. The corner of his eyes fondly crinkle ever so slightly at the view.

A forceful wind erupts in the car as it picks up, you can feel the pleasant freshness dance carelessly on your skin, tickling the strands of hair left loose. It feels like a dream you muse as you shift your gaze to John, really beginning to understand the butterflies that all these television shows and movies talk about as you take in the concentration forging itself into his features as his eyes never leave the road. You don’t believe in the idea of destiny, but you can’t help but note how it feels how the stars modified and aligned themselves for you.

Recently, the purchase of a polaroid camera had arrived on your doorstep and today would be the best opportunity to try it out!

“ they’ll leave me alone ⏤ “ he stops suddenly as he assures the unspoken question between you both. Can we live in peace? “ ⏤ us alone now. “

“ you’re sure? It sounds like a shady business, what if someone doesn’t take note? “ worry bleeds into your expression as your foot begins to tap nervously, with only a peek into another society it has left you concerned when John is involved.

“ one thing my world thrives on is rules. Codes. “ he assures you gently, aware of how the other side of the world lives out its gruesome fantasies in real life shocks you.

A heavy hand lays dormant on your leg, coarse fingertips only moving every so often to draw trails on your clothed skin, as if to discover a depth that lays hidden from view. Of course, you both know that John knows every inch of you as you know yourself, many nights spent burning the entirety of the other into your minds with only the moonlight acting as your guiding light.

“ well, I can say that’s good to hear. “ is said by you with a short bout of nervous laughter. “ you can be sure? “

“ you have nothing to worry about. “ he remarks with confidence, attempting to soothe any and all of your fears you have in regards to your situation you both now share.

“ okay, “ you say with a nod, trying to affirm yourself of there being no phantoms pursuing the man behind you from the shadows. “ I trust you, John. I’m just being silly. “

“ you’re not being silly, I understand. “

Silence overwhelms the confined space you share, you take in just the lack of pretence in this moment. Nothing felt between you is forced, an affection woven with a glistening thread so naturally that the bond had been shaped into your reality before either of you had even realised. All John knew was that the curious feeling would be strengthened would he follow his emotions, and that is exactly what he did. Gratitude leaves his heart feeling full at the choice, finally realising that he can settle into a life of normality. An adventure he has never once had but a glow radiates within him at being able to share it with you.

A salty fragrance slowly seeps into your sense of smell, the sounds of seagulls erupting in the distance as you realise just where John is driving you. The chance, living in a city, to go to the beach is scarce thanks to the distance, so you can feel a childish elation swell deep inside of you. Running on this emotion, you pull out the camera held safely in the confines of your bag. Turning it around and shifting your body so suddenly you poke your tongue out and a brief, blinding flash of light erupts before disappearing from existence as soon as it came.

“ oh, now this is a good one! “ you cheer as your lips curve so smoothly into a satisfied grin as you gaze upon the small print held between your fingers.

John says nothing, only knowing of his amusement through the abrupt laughter and warmth blazing so intensely in his eyes.

“ you’ll have to put those into an album or something. “

“ that’s actually a good idea, or a scrapbook? “ you ask with the idea brightening your entire expression. “ documenting this notable day! “

“ yeah, exactly. “ he agrees, a short laugh is shared with you in response. In awe at your naivety, once he’d been envious of the trait ⏤ because you’d never have seen the things he has, but he understands it now. Neither of you can help what you were born into, but he can have control over the person he becomes and that does not include harbouring resentment over something so trivial. The idea seems so foolish now, as it has become something he has grown to adore.

The two of you exit the vehicle, effortlessly your hands find each other through the lengthy space to the other's warmth in yours. John is unable to stop himself from admiring facile peace that clouds your features as you stare upon the limitless majesty of which the deep richness of the blue of the ocean expands way beyond what the eye can distinguish. There’s no worry nor emotional strain colouring itself into burdening your relaxed features.

Your fingers get to work photographing the scene before you, wanting not to document the beauty before you itself but rather the sentiment that dominates the moment with a heavy hand that you’d dare not maneuver away.

From behind you can feel arms encapsulate you against his chest as he parts his lips, as if to say something, mutter some romantic words but he stops immediately. His being wanting to fully submerge himself in a feeling of being enveloped by the serenity. Right now, it’s just you in each other’s company with nothing of the outside world being able to scratch and claw at your attention. He can finally allow himself to be lost in something good, someone who does not see him as a monster, no matter how many atrocities have occurred by his hands. God forbid any ghastly spirits should try to end the dream of this life, he would go to the ends of the Earth to shroud you from any harm from the shadiness he once delved into.

He leaves a flutter of sweet kisses on the crown of your head, you allow a nonchalant smile to illuminate your lips, a soft giggle at the action hovers between you both. John moves his grip to release your waist from his hold, a slow movement towards the bulky camera that lays safe in your grasp. He steps back with a gentleness that he’d never imagined could be contained within his form, and lifts the lens up to his awaiting gaze. You turn just as he lays pressure onto the button, a flash greeting you as you do ⏤ you’re caught off guard, his favourite version of you.

“ come on, John! “ you complain, fingers move to fuss with the loose ends of your hair played with by the tempestuous winds.

“ I couldn’t resist, I’m sorry. “ he apologises with an accompanying smirk, fondly eyeing the photograph of you being caught unaware.

“ it better look good. “ a warning falls from your lips, of course, it’s an empty one ⏤ you wouldn’t spit any venom his way over something so inconsequential.

“ you always look perfect to me. “

With a flood of tenderness and devotion filling your vision, hands inch higher and higher as they snake up the chest of John ⏤ he knows the movement well, a permanent muscle memory that brings him closer to your lips. The touch is so faint, almost feather like, this kiss lacking the pleading need and instinctive desire from his direction ⏤ instead, this one he takes comfort in your presence. He knows you both now have all the time to get lost in one another.

“ you think you can get around me easily? “ you question him swiftly, a good natured air of audacity sparkles in your gaze as you stare up to the tall man.

“ I know I can. “ John promises, already missing the lingering touch you leave behind like a tattoo on his mouth.

“ you sound so sure.. “ you remark, an amused tone coats your words heavily in its substance as your fingertips trace nonexistent patterns in the back of his neck.

John fights himself to prevent a groan of pleasure at the action from clawing its way free from him, already feeling himself melting into your form. He’s surprised you’re not one person.

“ Because I am. “ he states, a lone nod accompanies the action before he descends once more, itching to feel the silk of your lips on his once more on his.

Lifting the camera up at a slant, the crashing of the waves drowns out the click of the camera, he takes out the physical memory of this period of tranquility and adoration. You take it from him, your sight examining the image before you. If you’d had doubts before, you would no longer ⏤ a permanent reminder in picture form of the intimacy and care you share equally.

This is a day to remember.

“ I guess you’re correct. “

[dramatic-squirrel]

Damianette December Day 9- book

It may be confusing when the boys are speaking English and when they’re speaking French but, generally, they are speaking English unless they are addressing Marinette directly.

@daminette-december2019-2020

Considering how awful it had gone the last time the class had done this, it was surprising that Ms. Bustier’s class was once again at the Grand Paris to try the various jobs around the hotel. True to her previous actions, Chloe still did her utmost to drag Marinette down, this time, she was stuck cleaning the lobby.

The joke was on Chloe though, because Marinette wasn’t so spoiled that she didn’t appreciate what janitors and cleaning maids did. It was just cleaning, not like it was going to hurt her.

As she was vacuuming the couch, she found something between the cushions, a book. “Hey Tikki, what do you think this is?” she opened it up a bit and saw a sketch of a city skyline. The city was unfamiliar to her but it definitely helped her figure out that she was holding a sketchbook.

“D.a. G.W.,” that was the only thing that indicated who it might belong to. “Should we give this to the front desk, right Tikki? It’s probably a hotel guest’s if it was in the lobby, they’d probably be able to find them based on the initials or at least hold it until they came back.” She looked back to where Chloe was sitting, filing her nails, and groaned slightly. “Or maybe we try to find them ourselves?”

“Marinette. You know the right thing to do here would be to give Chloe the sketchbook and leave it to the lobby clerk.” the kwami understood Marinette’s frustration but, was also dedicated to guiding her partner on the right path.

“Yeah, I know you’re right. I just wish you weren’t,” she made her way to the front desk. “Someone left this behind Chloe.”

The blond glanced at her. “And? What do you want me to do about it? Just throw that dirty book away and be done with it. Do your job properly, Dupain-Cheng.” That was about how well Marinette expected the conversation to go. Instead of talking back and making the situation worse, she held herself back, Chloe would just make some snide comment or complain to her father.

Turning around, she decided to finish the job she had been given and then asked Ms. Bustier if she could try to find the owner of the sketchbook. As someone who frequently used one herself, she knew how important sketchbooks were to an artist, and based on the details of the first sketch she saw, the owner of the book was definitely an artist.

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“It’s great that you got permission Marinette.”

“It is Tikki. Now we just need to get Chloe away from the computer. Luckily she’s easy to read.” Marinette walked up to the lobby desk again after she was sure the Lobby Clerk was still gone. “Hey, Chloe. Did you see all of those fans fawning over Adrien on the Hotel’s rooftop. He’s practically surrounded by them.” Rage instantly filled Chloe’s face when she heard those words.

“No one’s allowed close to my Adrikins except me.” And voila, the front desk was missing one Chloe Bourgeois. Marinette slipped behind the desk, once Chloe was safely in the elevator and went to search up the guest in the database. 

She looked up last names beginning with W first, to see if any fit the initials she found in the book. Unfortunately, she was out of luck there. On the bright side, it wasn’t a long list to go through, so she managed to finish quickly. 

It then occurred to her that perhaps, like her last name, this person also had two last names, so she looked through the names that began with A next. She still didn’t find anything. Checking the time, she noticed that Chloe might be back soon so she had to come up with a new plan.

“What if you looked for the person based on where they live?” It was Tikki’s suggestion. 

“That might work but, I don’t know where they’re from.”

“But, perhaps the sketchbook might give you some clues as to where they may be from. The cityscape at the beginning could be where this person lives, they may find inspiration from the things around them, kind of like you.”

“It’s worth a shot,” she hesitated a bit before she started turning the pages of the book. It felt kind of invasive to go through someone’s sketches without their permission but there was no telling if they would ever find their sketchbook otherwise.

“Oh, wow,” the pictures were genuinely breathtaking. It was like Tikki thought, most of the pictures were of a city, and based on the architecture, it seemed like it was the same city. A few pictures of animals appeared, and one of a fantasy creature but, mostly it was a city. 

It seemed that the owner liked to sketch more secluded or lesser-known spots since none of the places had any distinguishing features, especially none she could recognize, until she turned the page, and saw a building with the words “Wayne Enterprise” on the side of the building. There was no mistaking where that building was. “Gotham! Tikki, they’re from Gotham!”

She hurriedly looked up the location on the computer and saw a booking by a Richard Grayson for three rooms on the 5th floor. And they were still there, which was a relief because she wasn’t sure what she would do if they had left Paris already.

The name didn’t match the sketchbook, but it occurred to her just then, that perhaps the owner themselves didn’t make the booking and was traveling with friends or family. Slipping from behind the desk she made her way to the elevator just as it arrived. Out of it, Chloe dragging a reluctant Adrien exited. Adrien caught her eye and winked at her.

Being her superhero partner for the past 3 years, he knew when she was scheming something, and he knew just how to go along with her crazy plans. Sending him a grateful smile, she entered the elevator and made her way to the room number she had found.

Standing in front of the hotel room, she began to second guess herself. They might not even be there right now, or maybe she got the wrong room. Just as she was determined to leave and find one of the actual employees to take care of the situation, the door in front of her opened. She came face to face with a man, black hair and insanely blue eyes, who stared at her just as she stared at him.

“Oh god, Bruce found another one, didn’t he. Dick! Can you please tell Bruce to stop adopting children?” The man spoke in English so she couldn’t quite follow along with what he said only something about children and the fact that he was addressing someone else.

“Excuse me?” she hoped he understood French. “I found this sketchbook in the lobby and I think it might belong to someone staying in this hotel room.” The man’s eyes finally saw the book in her hands just as another almost identically looking man came to the door.

He seemed half asleep as he stood in the threshold holding a cup of coffee in his hand. “What’re going on about Jason. Bruce didn’t adopt anyone recently, Alfred already asked me to keep an eye on any adoption papers that might be processing with his name on it. I’d know if he was adopting someone.” the sleepy man’s eyes landed on her and the cup in his hand fell to the floor with a crash. “Shit. I didn’t think about foreign countries. I’ve got to go tell Alfred.”

The first man grabbed the other one before he could leave. “Relax, it was a false alarm, she’s just returning something for Damian.” He turned to her, “I’ll take it, I know who it belongs to.” Up to that point, Marinette didn’t quite get what was going on, but she was sure that she didn’t entirely trust these people. It was hard to follow their  English but their actions were weird.

“I’m sorry Monsieur, but I would feel more comfortable if I gave it to the actual owner of the book, instead of… his acquaintance.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet the brat. He’ll probably accuse you of stealing. It would be better to give it one of us to pass along.” The skepticism remained on her face. That was when a voice came from behind the two men in the doorway.

“Get out of the damn way, you morons. I can’t leave the room with you blocking the entrance.” 

The first man sighed in resignation when the voice came through and stepped aside. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped now. It’s this demon spawn’s sketchbook.” she turned to see the artist that she had been looking for.

He was about average height, although compared to the person who had initially opened the door, he was small. His skin was also more tanned than his acquaintances, and although they share the same black hair, his eyes were a brilliant green, more vibrant than even Adrien’s.

“Excuse me, Monsieur,” she called out to him. “I seemed to have found your sketchbook in the hotel lobby. Is this your book?” he stopped in his tracks when she started talking. 

Numbly, he nodded his head. Recognizing that he hadn’t properly answered, he cleared his throat. “Sorry. Yes, that’s my book.” his responses, while curt were far from insulting as the other man had suggested. Holding the book out to him, their fingers touched as he grabbed the book.

His touch was warm and gentle and it startled her enough that she accidentally let go of the book. Apparently, he was also startled for he too, let go of the sketchbook, and it fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to let go so soon,” Marinette bent down to pick up the book.

“It’s okay. I’m at fault as well.” He took the book from her outstretched hand. “Thank you, for finding my sketchbook and returning it to me.”

“No problem. I understand how devastating it might be to lose a sketchbook, I’m happy I could bring it back to you.” she smiled at him and then checked the watch she was wearing. It was almost time for her class to leave. “I need to head back but, it was wonderful meeting you.” she waved and turned around towards the elevator.

Damian stared at her back as she left. Only, when she had already been gone for a few minutes did he notice a book on the ground. Picking it up, he saw the name Marinette Dupain-Cheng written on the front, and, opening up the front page he saw that it was her sketchbook. 

It seemed that this time he was going to have to find her.

[doodlewash]

My name is Shanyn Silinski and I’m a painter, photographer and writer from Alberta, Canada (if you are familiar with Alberta I am northeast of Calgary in a beautiful area of prairies, badlands and in view of the amazing Rocky Mountains). I grew up appreciating and loving art. I always wanted to ‘grow up’ and be an artist or a writer.

Even though I was told time and time again that they weren’t ‘real jobs’ and that I should be more practical with my aspirations.  I have been blessed to meet some amazing artists who inspired me to appreciate art even when I wasn’t creating it.

I remember playing with a vintage set of pan watercolors and stencils from the 1940’s and loving how the paints mixed and how they flowed. A few years later, while on holiday, I found a set of pan watercolors and a book to paint in.  I started as a young teen on my journey of being a self-taught watercolor painter. I experimented, I painted loose and detailed. I sketched first and winged it too.

In university, I started a dual degree in Art and Art history but didn’t finish. I never gave up trying different mediums and art forms. I’ve done so many and enjoyed aspects of them all but nothing has come close to the love I have for painting watercolors.

In the past few years, I’ve found myself too busy to do my favorite hobbies of scrapbooking and writing poetry, and I found myself feeling more and more like something critical was missing. It was self-care and finding ways to feed the creative in me.

I started collecting paints and brushes, and paper. I did colored pencil drawings and burned through adult coloring books and printable pages. Then one day, I looked at a page and thought, “That would be pretty painted!” After finding my paints and a couple of brushes I did paint that page. And others.

Being a parent and a spouse, working and having a family life doesn’t always leave a lot of luxury time for creative endeavors. I needed something to help me focus and really make my dedicated painting time feel like it was good. I won’t say productive but in a ways yes – productive.

Being on Instagram has been very inspiring, I enjoy seeing and showing love to fellow artists. I am inspired by their creativity and amazing work. I stumbled across Doodlewash and the prompts. It just clicked – I could paint every day and not worry about WHAT to paint. I’d have something to get me started.  That was eight watercolor sketchbooks and a few pans of colors ago.

My self-care time is precious, and I defend it.  We talk more about the importance of mental health now and self-care is one of the hardest things to really work on. It’s easy, too easy, to stop taking care of ourselves in the busy of life. But, creating that calm space is, for me, as critical as coffee or sleep. I NEED it. My family is better for me taking that time. My work is better. My friendships are better.

I advocate for self-care more now than I ever have, and it’s mostly because I’ve seen firsthand the benefits. My teenager sketches and is starting to paint daily. I’m getting my husband to expand his self-care into exploring art. We spend the time together, listening to music or chatting and creating. I encourage my friends and family to make the time, take it, for something that feeds their soul like being creative can. It doesn’t have to be painting. I have been a writer as long as I have been painting. I love scrapbooking. Being a photographer lets me capture amazing things to paint.

This winter, I am embarking on a course to become a certified art therapist, which I am looking forward to doing.

Okay the fun stuff – what do I like to paint with? I love the large pan paints (especially the pearl paints) from Michael’s.  I have a set of Brea Reese paints that I love to use, they have such dynamic colors. I travel with my Daler-Rowney tin, even if the short brush doesn’t get used (I have a roll pack of brushes I use instead).

Brushes – I am not a specific brand person so much as I am a ‘does it feel good’ and ‘does it have nice touch’ specific. I browse brushes from everywhere I go. Art stores, dollar stores, book stores, crafting stores. I have a lot of brushes, and often use many on a piece.  Sometimes, I challenge myself by randomly picking a brush and only using that one brush to do an entire piece.

I enjoy painting animals, scenery, still life and picking aspects of a larger subject to focus on. I try to use my own photos for reference when I can, or those of my friends. Through the prompts I am finding myself painting many new and challenging things. That is a very enjoyable process! Some subjects are very regional to where I live (canola fields, grain bins, wild sunflowers or snowy owls) and others are prompt led and random.

When I draw using colored pencils and black and white, I tend to be very detail oriented, okay sometimes obsessed, but with watercolors I can relax and enjoy the paints and the process. Sometimes I sketch first and work at being precise, other times I just start putting down color and enjoying where it takes me. I don’t throw out my ‘failures’ anymore – I keep them to work on, to improve or just respect that I was trying something.

I enjoy painting anywhere I have space for water, brushes, paints and paper. I enjoy doing playful things like painting with actual coffee, and I love giving paintings as gifts. Even though it is quite nerve wracking to share something that is so personal.

Because I am mostly self-taught, I love the sharing of process videos on social media – it is a great insight into how other artists are making magic with paint and brush.  I am constantly trying new things (masking fluid – what a very cool thing!) and different subjects (and treatments of them) to stretch and grow. It is always a shock to me which pieces get the most love, as they are often the ones I was most intuitive on and not the ones I’ve labored over the most.

I have been blessed to do some painting evenings with small groups and friends, it is wonderful to introduce people to enjoying how paint moves and how colors can touch us rather than having them worry about ‘making a thing that looks like something’.  Leaving perfectionism behind has let me become a better artist and more confident. And a little more loving towards my pieces that have not turned out how I imagined they would.

My creative area, thanks to the work of my sweet husband, is quite large and has room for multiple projects. I have a painting and crafting space that lets me explore other painting media and styles as well as play with paper crafting and enjoy having someone create next to me when I feel like having a less solitary creative time.

Shanyn Silinski Instagram Facebook

GUEST ARTIST: "Practicing Self-Care Through Art" by Shanyn Silinski - #doodlewash #WorldWatercolorGroup #watercolor #watercolour My name is Shanyn Silinski and I'm a painter, photographer and writer from Alberta, Canada (if you are familiar with Alberta I am northeast of Calgary in a beautiful area of prairies, badlands and in view of the amazing Rocky Mountains).